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Corven: A Way We Can Both Get Out
CORVEN LACHANCE “Five gold on the little one,” her brother said. Cori was the little one. The tiefling scoffed. “Aye then. Ten on the big one.” “Sixteen.” They shook on it. After Cori had wiped the floor -- point-wise -- with her opponent, Rukh collected his winnings and split them with her fifty-fifty. He always made his final bet divisible by two, so it would be even. She pulled off her fencing helmet, smirking and sweating, and tucked her gold into her pocket. “They never believe you’ll have the reach,” Rukh said, and clicked his tongue. He offered her a hand, and she slapped it. “Their fuckin’ loss.” “Aye, and watch your mouth, shrimplet.” She scoffed and jabbed him with the harmless foil. “Go get dressed, eh?” When they met back up, she was in an uncomfortable, bulky, hoop-skirted ball gown, her half-brother was in a nice azure tunic that brought out his uncommonly blue eyes. He was a charmer far too aware of his looks, and despite being their father’s bastard by a Calish woman, he was sought after by the fancy ladies. Corven was ungainly in dance unless there were blades involved, and she had chopped all of her hair off short, and she had a scar across her face from swordfighting with no helmet. She’d thought that last one would drive suitors away, but she had the same blue eyes as Rukh, more was the pity. The ball was dull and Cori spent her time in a corner, grousing, until her mother dragged her out to speak to assorted minor lords. “They’re so boring,” she said. “None of them can even hold a sword and none of them want me to, either.” “I knew those fencing lessons were a mistake,” her mother fretted. “We should have enrolled you in wizardry. There’s a pleasant, helpful hobby for a well-bred lady.” “Mother, fencing isn’t even real swordfighting,” Cori complained, before being foisted on some dullard. She and Rukh sat out on the lawn and looked up at the stars, that night, passing back and forth between them a bottle of fine whiskey she’d stolen from their father. Always away, he was. Wouldn’t miss it. “I thought that one with the hair was rather dreamy,” Rukh offered. “All of them had hair, Ru.” “Pff.” They laid back in the dew. Her gown would get grass stains and Mother would be angry. She couldn’t be bothered to care, except -- she sat back up abruptly, and demanded, “Unbutton me.” “What? No. You’ll catch a chill, Cori.” “Unbutton me or I’ll rip the seams,” she threatened. “Good lord, girl. It’s a perfectly good gown.” He flailed to undo the row of tiny, annoying buttons down her back -- at least enough of them for her to be able to wriggle free of the contraption, leaving her in shift and, regrettably, corset. “This bollocks as well.” “Fine, fine.” Gamely, Rukh unlaced the corset too. She breathed deep and used the awful gown as a blanket to stretch out on, and picked out constellations until the whiskey made her groggy. She closed her eyes. “Cori,” Ruhk said softly. “Mm?” “D’you know, I had an interesting idea.” “Worrying.” She didn’t open her eyes. She felt heavy and warm despite the coolness, content for a brief moment, unbothered. “Do share.” “I worked out an interesting spell the other day.” “Get on with it.” “Well, look, for Tymora’s sake.” Oh, that was odd. Ru’s voice sounded -- She raised up and looked at herself -- a nervous version of herself, with the same blue eyes that had Rukh behind them, in a copy of the gown she laid on. “Is it good?” Ru asked. “Shit,” Corven said. “Language.” “It’s spectacular.” She crawled around him on all fours. Ah, his posture was better than hers had ever been, too. Was like looking in a strange mirror and seeing some other version of herself. The version she was meant to be like as not. She flopped back down in front of him, marveling. “You know how I like a good scam,” he said in her voice. “I do.” “Well …” “Well?” “Well, I …” Cori was drunk, but she pieced it together. “Ru, you can’t just be me,” she said, flabbergasted. “Who’ll I be?” “Me?” he suggested. “Or … anyone. If I’m you, then I -- well -- if -- er.” He was drunk too. They were both drunk. Two Corvens laid out on the lawn and looked at the sky for a time. “I think I’d rather be you,” Rukh said finally, quietly. “Okay,” Cori said. She held her sister’s hand. “God knows I’d rather be anyone and anywhere else.” Category:Vignettes